JAZZ

As a culture, they had alot of things but very a few things that defined them, and asides from the uniformed colour, the radiance of black skins

-they had their hair. We. Had our hair.

The natural afro textured black hair.

It was in this fascination that they derived so much comfort in knowing they were different. We were black. But that wasnt always the case.

My name is Jazz and this is my story. Was my story.

Ever since I was a little girl, i was one of the girls thst gave my hair so much attention. Way much, I always had the comb in my back pocket to always keep it tidy. Tidy, like they taught us.

Cos anything different was considered dirty. Rough. And it was easy to feel insecure. Very.

Seeing the white celebrities and their blonde hair flowing with glory down their fabricated shoulders made my eyes beam with envy and that was not until i learned the importance of this black hair.

And it was not until then, i decided I wanted so much more people to wear such afro in style and uniqueness and not feel any type of way, it was then I decided to be a stylist. A hair stylist.

Sidelined by the surburbs of Miami, Florida was a shop I put so much effort in acquiring, a shop that was solely dedicated to the service of black hair. And over the years, it had become more than just an establishment.

Once a striking thought, but now a store, a citadel for hair styling. Jazz's had become a fulfilled dream and most of that time, i had been the one behind the chairs in the saloon, dressing up a fellow woman's hair-

-but this time, i was in the seat. Buried.

I never thought the day would come when I'll loose a partbof myself that i worked so hard to build, i was in the seat.

And it wasnt for braiding nor treatment, it was for scraping, every single strand of hair.

This was the moment i had dreaded my whole life and it felt like i was about to finally loose my identity.

Standing above me was Olamide, a girl i had trained over the years and in her hands was the sterilized clippers-

-before which she buried it into my already combed hair, scraping each strand by the root.

And it was in that moment, i felt tears, cold tears streaming down my pale cheeks as i looked tonmy quivering palms-

-the memeories of the past weeks coming back to me with a wave of overwhelming emotions as i sat there in the doctor's office awaiting the results of the biopsy that was sure to change my life. Forever.

~

It wasn't until four weeks ago, I felt a lump in my left breast that my whole life changed, and there i was with my shaky palms.

I knew what his next words were going to be, I'd known since I felt it, yet it came as a shock and i still yet in denial.

"It's cancer" His words came as a sharp sting to my chest as i wailed. "I'm sorry"

~

"It's better we caught it early, that way we could begin treatment faster and there's a good survival poss-"

"Possibility?" I echoed in a raised tone.

"That?" I yelled, mostly at the phone screen and the fact that i was sent to his voice box for the nth time that day. Cos he wasnt here.

"I understand what you're going through" He said before I waved him off. "No, no you don't"

"Have you ever finally had your life all together, just for it to shatter apart again? Have you ever had cancer while your marriage is falling apart?" I slammed my phone to the table.

"No" I screamed, knowing I was all alone in this.

"No, i haven't but ive seen people just like you. Ive watched people battle with this same disease and i might not know how you're feeling but at leaat i could try to make you better-" He said as he walked towards before holding my palms.

Tears streamed down my face and I nodded.

"What's going to happen after I start chemotherapy?" i struggled to ask and he nodded.

"We just need to focus on getting you better"

"It's just everything is moving on so fast" I exhaled as my chest flattened in depression.

"You can beat this" His words came soft, yet reassuring.

~

By the next week, i had already started my rounds of chemo, it was tiring and painful but I held unto those words.

"You can beat this, Jazz, you can beat this" 

The store went on, and i was there seldomly. That is until, today.

~

As I stepped out of the shower and i placed my fingers in my hair, a clung of moist hair stuck to my hands and i knew just then, it was the chemo and this, was the beginning of the end.

I wasn't ready to have half my hair gone while i waited on the rest to just painfully disappear.

And though i knew i had options but i was done with all the pain, i knew it was the hardest decision id ever have to make.

~

To me, to us, it was not just hair.

Its a symbol of identity and uniqueness. 

So there i was, as i sat in that chair, while strands of hair fell upon my cleavaged shoulders.

I shut my eyes, clearing the tears that threatened to fall and i exhaled.

My husband was there, his hands enveloped mine and he was fine with this decision. With my decision.

I had worried he'd love me less but he told me, he didn't fall in love with my hair. He fell in love with me and that was enough assurance.

He loved me, for whoever i was. 

Whoever i was to become.

"You know I could get a hair cut too" He teased as a smile crept to my lips. "Too soon?"

And that person i was to become, was still a long road ahead or so id thought. Yet i braced myself.

"You could try a wig?" Olamide suggested as i stared into the mirror at my scraped head, void of a single strand of hair.

"I'm fine" I pushed a lump down my throat as his grip tighened around my palms. "I'm fine"

Because i'm me. I am Jazz Finer.